


Six Bottles of Wine

by likethenight



Category: The Three Musketeers (2011 Anderson)
Genre: Attempted Seduction, Bets & Wagers, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Seduction, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:14:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27802888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likethenight/pseuds/likethenight
Summary: Porthos is bored after the successful retrieval of the Queen's diamonds, and it turns out that Aramis owes him an apology. Or at least a wager. Porthos bets Aramis that he can't seduce a person of Porthos' choice; so far so good, except that the person of Porthos' choice is Athos.Aramis isn't entirely sure how he feels about that.
Relationships: Aramis | René d'Herblay & Athos | Comte de la Fère & Porthos du Vallon, Aramis | René d'Herblay & Porthos du Vallon, Aramis | René d'Herblay/Athos | Comte de la Fère
Comments: 8
Kudos: 12
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Six Bottles of Wine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thedevilchicken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/gifts).



> Dear recipient, I saw this prompt of yours and couldn't resist! I send you festive greetings, and hope you enjoy this silly little story.

“Aramis, I am bored,” declares Porthos, sprawled in his chair by the fire. “Now the Queen’s diamonds are returned, we have nothing to do.”

Aramis looks up from his book, over the rims of his glasses and the toes of his boots, which are resting upon the table as he leans back in his chair. “Are you not enjoying the peace and quiet?” he asks, mildly.

“Not in the slightest,” says Porthos. “I may be forced to seek out my lady friend.”

“Your benefactress,” corrects Aramis. “Well, I suppose she was nice enough.”

“What do you mean by that?” demands Porthos. 

Aramis only raises his eyebrows, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth, and Porthos sits up straight. 

“You didn’t,” he says, a little too loud for the size of the room, and Aramis shrugs. “She said she was true to me!” protests Porthos. “And what about you, you’re supposed to be my brother in arms!”

“Perhaps I was doing you a service,” says Aramis. “You do not want a faithless woman, do you? Do not say I do not look out for your best interests. All for one, and all that.”

Porthos groans, and makes to throw his boot at Aramis’ head; Aramis does not flinch, and Porthos drops the boot on the floor again, where it has been resting with its twin since he kicked them off a good hour ago. “You smug bastard,” he says. “All right, let’s have a wager. You owe me that, at least.”

Aramis smiles. “For distracting your wealthy lady friend?”

Porthos opens his mouth to deny everything, and then realises that his dignity is already in tatters, and there is no point any more. “Yes. You bastard. I will bet you -“ he thinks for a moment, “I will bet you six bottles of wine that you cannot seduce a person of my choosing.”

“I thought I’d already done that,” says Aramis, still smiling, and Porthos growls.

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it. Do I have to challenge your honour?”

“Not at all. A person of your choosing, you say?” Aramis’ eyebrows are up, and he looks as though his interest is piqued; Porthos knows his friend cannot resist a challenge, especially in the field of seduction. 

“Of my choosing. Six bottles of wine. Are we on?”

Aramis pulls a considering face for a moment, weighing it up, before he comes to a decision. “All right, we’re on. Am I allowed to know the identity of the person before we shake on it, or have you not decided yet?”

“Yes, I’ve decided, and no, I’m not going to tell you before we shake on it.” Porthos grins; he’s had a really rather brilliant idea. 

Aramis rolls his eyes. “Fine. All right. Six bottles of wine, a person of your choosing.” He sticks his hand out, and Porthos leans forward, giving his hand a brisk shake, and then settles back in his chair.

“Well?” Aramis says after a moment or two. “Who is this person?”

Porthos grins. He thinks he’s finally set Aramis an unconquerable challenge. He gives it a moment, then another, for effect, and then speaks. 

“Athos,” he says, and he thinks he’ll treasure the memory of Aramis’ thunderstruck expression for the rest of his days.

“ _Athos_?” says Aramis, when he’s regained the power of speech, and Porthos throws his head back and laughs.

“Athos,” he confirms. “Or you may simply admit defeat now and buy me six bottles of wine.”

“Admit defeat?” says Aramis. “Me? Never.”

“Good,” says Porthos, satisfied that he is going to be in for a very interesting time. “It isn’t as though you haven’t already renounced your holy vows a thousand times already with the ladies, so you might as well renounce the last remaining shred of them. If you’re successful.”

Aramis raises his brows again. “If? Porthos, mon ami, you know I am always successful.”

“Even with Athos?” Porthos is grinning now.

“Even,” says Aramis, “with Athos,” and his voice is steady as a rock, but Porthos thinks he sees the slightest flicker of uncertainty in his friend’s eyes. Oh yes, this is going to be very interesting indeed.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Athos. _Athos_. Aramis is not sure whether to curse Porthos, for his idiotic sense of humour, or himself, for not being able to resist a challenge, especially when it comes to seduction. 

It’s not that Athos is a man. That has never bothered Aramis particularly, for all that most of his conquests are female. It isn’t even that Athos is a friend - it would not be the first time that Aramis has seduced a friend. It’s that it’s _Athos_ , and Athos knows him so well. Aramis will not be able to rely on his usual arsenal of weapons: his looks, his charm, his powers of persuasion will be utterly useless against Athos. 

On the other hand, he thinks, Athos _has_ been particularly melancholy since they returned from England. Watching Milady (or ‘that bloody woman’, as Aramis and Porthos call her when Athos is not around, and sometimes when he is) leap to her apparent death amidst the waves was bound to do it to him, Aramis supposes; Athos was bad enough the first time she betrayed them, and this time has been so very much worse. Perhaps Athos’ moping will be his way in.

And there is a tiny, quiet, traitorous part of him that says he would not be at all averse to seducing Athos, _because_ it’s Athos. _Because_ Athos knows him so well. _Because_ they’ve been friends for so long and they know each other almost intimately. _Almost_.

He still has no idea how he’s going to go about it, however.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
A week passes, and then two, and nothing happens. Porthos is deeply disappointed. 

“What happened to our bet?” he demands of Aramis, one afternoon when Athos is out on some errand or other. “We’re still on, aren’t we?”

“Of course we’re still on,” says Aramis, without even a moment’s hesitation, putting a brave face on it though Porthos detects that flicker of uncertainty again. “It’s just not as simple as all that.”

Porthos flings his head back and roars with laughter. “Not as simple as all that!” he crows. “Have we finally seen the day when Aramis, greatest of lovers, has lost his touch?”

“Fuck off, Porthos,” says Aramis, with some feeling. “You _know_ it’s not that simple.”

Porthos only laughs harder. “So it’s not true that all you need do is raise your eyebrows and crook your finger and all of Paris will swoon at your feet?”

Aramis rolls his eyes. “There is a difference,” he says, carefully enunciating his words as though Porthos is an imbecile who needs everything explained in words of very few syllables, “between a person who does not know me, or particularly care for me beyond what I can do for them, and a person who has known me many years, whom I count among my dearest friends. Or are you saying that it would be just as easy for me to seduce _you_ as a person who has never met me before?”

Porthos, who is taking a long drink of his wine and tilting his chair back at this particular moment, chokes and slams forward so that the front two legs of his chair hit the floor with some force. 

“You will never seduce me, Aramis,” he splutters, coughing. 

“Really?” says Aramis. “And why not?”

“You’re not my type,” says Porthos, slightly too quickly.

Aramis raises his eyebrows. “And you think I’m Athos’ type?”

“I have no idea,” declares Porthos. “But you’re better than that bloody woman, for starters.”

“Damn me with faint praise, why don’t you,” says Aramis, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, a work of art such as this will require time, patience and considerable skill, and I’d thank you not to harass me while I work.”

“Work of art, my arse,” says Porthos. “Get on with it. I’ll give you another week, and then after that you’ll forfeit. You’ll have to buy me the six bottles of wine, and I’ll know you’re not all you’d like us to believe you are.”

“Fuck off, Porthos,” says Aramis again, with slightly less feeling this time. “A week will be plenty of time.”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
The days pass, and still Aramis does not know how he is going to achieve his goal. He watches Athos, observes him carefully from over the rims of his spectacles when he knows Athos is not looking, and the more he watches, the more concerned he is by what he sees. Athos is drinking again, not that he ever truly stopped, not that any of them has stopped, but Aramis and Porthos know their limits. Athos knows his limit too, but it seems that at the moment he does not care. He is never less than coherent, but Aramis knows that his composure comes from long years of practice, and he can tell that underneath it all, Athos is miserable.

And there’s something about that thought that doesn’t sit well with Aramis, beyond the fact that Athos is one of his two oldest, dearest friends. He doesn’t like the thought of Athos being unhappy, so unhappy that he feels his only option is to subdue his demons with wine. And if he really thinks about it, Aramis realises, he wants to do something about it. He’s not entirely certain that this ridiculous wager with Porthos is the best way to go about it, but at this point it’s all he’s got. He’d just like to see that sadness gone from Athos’ eyes, that kicked-puppy expression wiped from his face. He’d like to see Athos smile again.

He’d like to _make_ Athos smile again.

Aramis isn’t quite sure what to do with that thought.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
The day before Porthos’ deadline, Aramis finds Athos in the kitchen, sitting at the table and staring into nothing. Unusually, there is no wine-cup before him, no wine bottle on the table, and there is a plate of bread and cheese lying untouched just out of reach of Athos’ hand. Aramis rounds the corner of the table and when he sees the look on Athos’ face, all thought of his wager with Porthos is forgotten. He grabs a chair and pulls it up so that he can sit across the corner of the table from Athos, and drops into it, leaning forward.

“Are you all right, Athos?” he asks, his voice soft, entirely free of the bantering tone he usually uses with his friends. 

Athos does not answer for a long moment, his face still a mask of blank misery. Eventually, though, he murmurs, “I am fine,” and Aramis shakes his head.

“You don’t look fine,” he says, and Athos snorts. 

“Ever the charmer, Aramis,” he says. “Perhaps I find myself - distracted, today.”

“By what?” asks Aramis, his voice still soft, earning a sigh from Athos.

“By my own foolishness.” He sighs again, and falls silent for a moment. Aramis is about to say something encouraging when Athos speaks again. “To see her again, to know that she could not be trusted, but to allow my heart to hope though my love for her was long burned away to ashes by her betrayal - and then for that hope, that stupid, idiotic hope that she might turn back to us at the last minute to be dashed yet again and then to see her fall, to see her _die_ \- to know that she did it so that I did not have to kill her myself - truly, Aramis, is there no end to my stupidity?”

Privately, Aramis would not be at all surprised if Milady had somehow managed to engineer an escape from the watery grave to which she had apparently consigned herself. But it is clear that Athos believes in it, and it is equally clear that today he is wallowing in his misery over it. 

“Maybe not,” he says, “but it’s understandable. You loved her, and you thought she loved you. Of course your heart wanted to believe in her again, despite all the evidence to the contrary. But you really must try to forget her, for your own sake. Remember that there are others who care for you, those who are saddened by your despondency and would see you smile again.”

“Such as?” Athos asks, and Aramis only barely restrains himself from rolling his eyes. Athos has always had a tendency towards the dramatic, when his heart has been broken, and towards assuming himself all alone in his misery.

“Well,” he says, thinking he’ll try humour, see if that shakes Athos out from under his black cloud, “D’Artagnan clearly looks up to you, and Planchet lives to cause you mild inconvenience.” 

Athos snorts again. “I do not think Planchet cares one way or another about my happiness,” he says flatly. “As for D’Artagnan, it is none of his business.”

Aramis sighs quietly, all right, perhaps humour was not the way to go. “Well, will you not accept that Porthos and I care about you?” he says. “We understand the reasons for your melancholy, but we would very much like to see you smile again.”

“Am I so tiresome to you?” asks Athos, “am I ruining the convivial atmosphere?”

“Not at all,” says Aramis, a little more emphatically than he had intended, and Athos finally turns his head to look at him. Their eyes meet for a long moment, until Aramis finds that he has to look away, and Athos quirks an eyebrow just as he does so, in such a way that Aramis wonders what his friend has read in his gaze.

“Do you care for me, Aramis?” Athos asks, his voice barely above a whisper, and this time it is Aramis who has to pause before he can answer. 

“Yes, I do,” he says eventually, just as quietly, hoping his voice is calm and even enough not to betray the sudden incomprehensible tangle of emotions in his chest. He is looking at the tabletop, unable to meet Athos’ eyes, but then something makes him glance up, and this time he is caught, there is an expression in Athos’ eyes that he cannot quite interpret, and Aramis finds that he cannot look away.

“And you would see me smile again?” Athos breathes, and Aramis nods, his voice suddenly trapped in his throat. They are sitting closer together than he thought they were, he realises, and Athos is very close to him, almost close enough to - 

“I would see you smile again,” Aramis whispers, and he watches as the black clouds melt away and Athos leans forward to brush a kiss across Aramis’ mouth, just the barest touch of his lips. Aramis’ eyes flutter closed for a moment, and he feels Athos’ hand come up to cup his face, Athos’ thumb tracing gently along his cheekbone.

“You are so very handsome, Aramis,” Athos says, very quietly, and there is something that Aramis can’t quite identify in his voice. “I often wonder why you have not settled down with some beautiful gentlewoman long before now.”

“Perhaps I haven’t found the right person,” Aramis hears himself saying, hears the slight emphasis on ‘person’, and he opens his eyes to see Athos looking intrigued - and perhaps the slightest bit pleased. 

“Is that so?” he says softly, and then he leans in for another kiss, much less tentative this time, more certain, and Aramis brings his hands up to frame Athos’ face, one hand sliding back into his hair; he feels Athos’ lips part against his and he opens for him, a shiver darting through him at the touch of Athos’ tongue to his. Feelings long denied come bubbling to the surface, years of hiding and denial and control simply melt away, and Aramis kisses back as though his life depends upon it, the world around them narrowing to this, only this…

Eventually, Aramis breaks away, and a soft laugh escapes him. 

“What?” Athos wants to know, and Aramis shakes his head.

“Only that Porthos owes me six bottles of wine,” he says a little sheepishly; he knows there is no real way of painting this that does not at the very least sound insulting to Athos, but he wants to be honest, he owes Athos as much, and in any case he would have found out sooner or later. Porthos is not in the habit of being quiet about anything. 

“And why is that?” asks Athos. 

“He challenged me to a wager,” explains Aramis, “as payment for - well, I might have…established the faithlessness of his wealthy benefactress.”

Athos laughs. “Now why doesn’t that surprise me?” he says. “So what was the wager?”

Aramis takes a breath, he is conscious he is going to have to choose his words carefully. “Six bottles of wine that I could not seduce a person of his choosing.”

Athos frowns. “A person of Porthos’ choosing,” he says. “And that person - was me?”

Aramis nods. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t mean it. If - if you want me to mean it, that is.” He glances away, suddenly unsure and somewhat ashamed, and somehow, for some reason, a little afraid. Well, it’s entirely possible that he has just blown their friendship to shreds, not to mention that he finds he really rather wants Athos to want him to mean it.

Athos is quiet for a moment, and then he lets out a snort of laughter. “Well, in that case, I think that in actual fact, Porthos owes those six bottles of wine to me, for I do believe that the way things have gone so far, _I_ am in the process of seducing _you_.”

Aramis looks back at him, eyes a little wide, a little surprised, not entirely sure he is hearing correctly, and Athos laughs again.

“Your face!” he says. “Do you know, Aramis, you have cheered me up quite spectacularly.”

“Have I?” Aramis is too surprised to manage anything more coherent. 

“You have. You’ve shaken me out of my idiotic moping.” Athos grins. “What I needed, I think, was a proper distraction, a shock, a surprise, and you have given me that.”

“Is that all it was?” Aramis hears himself asking, finds that he really, _really_ cares what Athos’ answer will be.

Athos shakes his head. “Not if you don’t want it to be,” he says softly. “I should have let go of - of _her_ , long ago. I should have seen what was here, in front of me. I have been blinded by my insistence on clinging onto my pain, instead of - letting it go, letting it heal and seeing what might be better for me.”

Aramis smiles, now. “You think too much,” he says.

“Perhaps I do,” says Athos with a self-deprecating smile. “Perhaps you should make me stop thinking quite so much.” He gives Aramis a distinctly teasing look, and Aramis laughs, shaking his head.

“Perhaps I should,” he says, and he leans back in, curling his hand around the back of Athos’ head again, pulling him into another kiss. He is back on familiar ground now, he has established that Athos is not unwilling, and a willing partner is absolutely something he knows what to do with. Even if it _is_ Athos, his dearest friend (one of his dearest friends, and he is going to have to thank the other one, later).

Eventually they break apart again, and Aramis finds himself slipping back into his usual confidence.

“So,” he says, “your room or mine?” He quirks an eyebrow, tips his patented seductive smile in Athos’ direction, and Athos grins.

“Which of us has the more comfortable bed?” he asks, and Aramis has to consider. 

“Well, I don’t know about yours, but mine is fairly comfortable,” he says. “Not that I know what it’s like for _this_ purpose.”

Athos laughs. “Do you not? Really?”

Aramis shakes his head. “I’ve always made it a rule not to bring - that sort of thing home with me.”

“I suppose you have,” says Athos. “Well, my room is at the top of the house, so it’s likely to be a little more private, if Porthos or Planchet should come home, or if D’Artagnan should decide to drop in.”

“Good point,” says Aramis. “Your room it is, then.”

And they grin at each other, and kiss again, quickly, hungrily, and then they make a dash for the stairs, practically chasing each other up to the top floor.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Later - much later - the two of them emerge from Athos’ room and go downstairs for some food, entering the kitchen together, and Porthos looks up from his customary place by the fire. He glances between them once, twice, and then his jaw drops visibly as he takes in the slightly rumpled state of them, and their general air of contented satisfaction.

“Did you - you didn’t -“ he gapes, and Aramis laughs, resting his hand in the small of Athos’ back for a moment. 

“You owe me six bottles of wine, Porthos,” he says with a broad grin, and Athos nudges him in the ribs.

“You owe _me_ six bottles of wine, Porthos,” says Athos firmly.

“Technicality,” says Aramis, and Athos snorts.

“Which one of us kissed the other first?” he demands, and Porthos, at that point, rolls up out of his seat. 

“I don’t need to know,” he says loudly. “I do _not_ need to know. Although if _he_ seduced _you_ , then I’d consider the bet null and void.” He points first at Athos and then at Aramis, and Aramis shrugs. 

“He wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t already made most of the progress,” he says. “Greatest lover in all of Paris, if not the whole of France, don’t forget.”

Athos snorts, but he does not quite deny Aramis’ claim, which makes Aramis grin all the wider. 

“Either way,” says Athos, “I appear to be thoroughly seduced, so I make that six bottles of wine. You never know, Porthos, if you’re nice to us we might let you share them.”

Porthos huffs. “As long as that’s the only thing you expect me to share,” he says. “Remember, I know where you’ve both been.”

“And we know where you’ve been,” says Athos. “So I think we’ll all agree to leave it at the wine, shall we?”

“Fine,” says Porthos, “just the wine. Now get out of my sight, you are both far too disgustingly smug for my liking.”

“You’ve only yourself to blame, mon ami,” says Aramis, smiling sweetly. “Come on, Athos. Let’s go back to bed.” He picks up half a loaf of bread and a jar of honey from the shelf and flashes Porthos a grin, and Porthos groans.

“You two are going to be insufferable, aren’t you? What have I done?”

The only reply he receives is a laugh in two voices, as two sets of feet go clattering back up the stairs to Athos’ room on the top floor. Porthos groans again, and gets to his feet.

“I’m going out,” he says to himself, “nobody needs to hear _that_.” But he is smiling as he closes the door behind himself and steps out into the street; his friends seem to be happy, and for that he is glad. It is doing him good to see Athos smiling again, and Aramis, too, seems as though a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. This was not entirely the result he had anticipated when he made his wager with Aramis, but, if he is honest, things have actually turned out rather better than he had expected.

**Author's Note:**

> I know that the very end of the film makes it pretty clear that they don't have much time to sit around in peace and boredom before Buckingham's fleet arrives, but...*handwave* let's pretend it took him a little while longer to get it sorted out. 
> 
> I really wish they'd made that sequel.


End file.
